


Prisoner's Dilemma

by kjack89



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Absurd, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drunkenness, Fluff and Humor, Hijinks & Shenanigans, M/M, Mild Illness, Mild Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-18 02:10:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10607130
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: “Youthree—” Enjolras said three as though it was a dirty word. “—Come here today, the day we’re meant to be meeting as a group with several influential aldermen about city regulations on public protests, and Joly looks like he’s been decked in the face, Bossuet can’t appear to speak, and Grantaire can’t hear and whose ear also appears to be leaking.”When Joly, Bossuet and Grantaire show up to a Les Amis meeting looking worse for wear, Enjolras decides to get to the bottom of things whatever way he can.





	

**Author's Note:**

> [godlingcaptainchristina](https://tmblr.co/m5i7dqgNJVd8oeRyOMZoygQ) requested a fic about an ear infection, and well, your wish is my command, though I admit that the ear infection is more of a minor plot device here than anything. Still, I think the fluff will (hopefully) make up for it.
> 
> Shenanigans. All of the shenanigans. Also a fairly lengthy discussions of penises at one point. If you’re at all wondering how the [Prisoner’s Dilemma](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Prisoner%27s_dilemma), an ear infection and a discussion of penises tie together, this is the fic for you.
> 
> Usual disclaimer applies. Please be kind and tip your fanfic writers in the form of comments and/or kudos!

“Dare I even ask?” Enjolras sighed, rubbing his forehead and glaring at Joly, Bossuet and Grantaire, who were seated side-by-side in front of him and conspicuously avoiding looking at each other.

Joly let out what sounded like a hiccup and shrugged, holding the icepack over his eye, while Bossuet whistled under his breath and stared up towards the ceiling. Grantaire, on the other hand, was tugging on his ear and wincing. “I think there’s something wrong with my ear,” he said, his voice louder than normal.

Enjolras snorted. “There’s about to be something much more wrong with you than your ear,” he said, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “You _three_ —” He said three as though it was a dirty word. “—Come here today, the day we’re meant to be meeting as a group with several influential aldermen about city regulations on public protests, and Joly looks like he’s been decked in the face, Bossuet can’t appear to speak, and Grantaire can’t hear and whose ear also appears to be leaking.”

Grantaire looked horrified. “My ear is _squeaking_?”

“Leaking,” Joly said loudly. “And it’s nothing to worry about. Just a bit of discharge.”

Bossuet looked as though a bit of discharge was definitely something to be worried about, as he tried to scoot away from Grantaire, who frowned at him, having missed most of what Joly had said. Enjolras sighed again and pinched his nose. “Well, obviously the three of you are not going to be much use to me today, so kindly take yourselves home and we’ll talk about this later.”

Joly and Bossuet looked sufficiently shamefaced as they stood, and Grantaire stood a moment later, clearly following their lead. “Oh, no, not you,” Enjolras said, reaching out and grabbing Grantaire’s arm. “You’re staying here and waiting for me.” Grantaire blinked at him and Enjolras almost audibly ground his teeth before pulling out his phone and texting Grantaire.

Grantaire’s phone vibrated and he pulled it out, his face brightening when he saw who it was, though it fell again once he read the text message. “I’m in trouble, aren’t I?” he asked.

His phone vibrated again. “Damnit,” Grantaire sighed, and he sat back down.

Enjolras left him in the backroom of the Musain and joined the rest of Les Amis outside where they were waiting for him. “You sent Joly and Bossuet home?” Combeferre asked.

“Well, I couldn’t very well have ‘See no Evil’ and ‘Speak no Evil’ joining us today,” Enjolras said, a little waspishly, and he jerked his head towards the backroom. “And ‘Hear no Evil’ in there is no help to anyone on his best day, so I figured benching him while he can’t hear me enough to complain was the best call.”

“Did they tell you what happened?” Courfeyrac asked.

Enjolras shrugged. “No. But I have a plan for getting it out of them. But I’m going to need your help.”

Combeferre and Courfeyrac exchanged glances and Combeferre sighed. “I have a bad feeling about this,” he said.

Enjolras just smiled, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

* * *

Joly opened the door to his apartment, surprised to see Courfeyrac leaning against the doorjamb, a particularly roguish grin on his face and a bottle of tequila in one hand. “Listen,” Courfeyrac said, straightening. “I know that you’re a doctor and all, and you probably have a better medicinal solution for whatever the fuck is wrong with your eye and making it look like it’s about to start bleeding, but I figured I’d offer a time-honored and much more fun solution: tequila.”

“Tempting, very tempting,” Joly said, taking a step back so that Courfeyrac could come inside. “And you’re in luck that antibiotic eyedrops don’t preclude me drinking. But if I may ask — why this oh so kind gesture?”

“Because I want to get you liquored up so I can take advantage of you, Jolllly,” Courfeyrac said earnestly, his eyes wide and innocent. “I want to know what Bossuet’s been having fun with this entire time.”

Joly took the bottle of tequila from Courfeyrac. “Joking about sexual assault is beneath you,” he said. “Besides, if I’m drinking tequila, you’re drinking tequila. Who’s to say I’m not going to take advantage of you?”

“A fair point,” Courfeyrac said, making an exaggerated bow in mock-deference towards Joly. “You slice the limes, I’ll get the salt.”

* * *

Combeferre opened his book, adjusting his glasses towards the end of his nose, and peered over them at Bossuet, who looked distinctly uncomfortable from where he was seated across from Combeferre. “I’m going to be honest with you,” Combeferre said, looking back down at his book, “Enjolras put me up to this. The sooner you tell me what happened to you, Joly and Grantaire, the sooner we both get to go home. In the meantime, I have a lot of work to do, so.”

Bossuet’s eyes narrowed defiantly, and he told Combeferre in the rough, painful-sounding voice that indicated strep throat, “Then I’ll let you get to it.”

Combeferre nodded. “Keep in mind, though,” he said conversationally, his eyes not leaving the page, “the longer this takes, the more disappointed in you Enjolras will be.” He raised his gaze to Bossuet. “And frankly, the more disappointed I’m going to be.”

He looked down again and Bossuet’s expression slowly faded from defiance to something close to terror.

* * *

“You know, I spent all day waiting for you,” Grantaire remarked as Enjolras dumped his bag on one of the tables. His voice was almost back to its normal volume, loud though that still was.

“I was letting you stew,” Enjolras told him. “I figured it would make it easier to get the information I wanted out of you. If, that is, you can hear me again.”

“What?” Grantaire asked.

Enjolras turned to him, eyebrow raised. “Can you actually not hear me, or are you trying to be funny?”

Grantaire smirked at him. “I never have to _try_ to be funny,” he said. “And it was a real knee-slapper for anyone without a massive stick up their ass.”

“The stick up my ass is because we had sixteen meetings scheduled for this afternoon, nine of which overlapped and seven of which we had to cancel because what stunt you, Joly and Bossuet pulled left me without enough people to attend all those meetings,” Enjolras snapped. He pulled out a chair from the table and turned it around before sitting down backwards on it, resting his arms on top of the back of the chair. “And speaking of stunts, perhaps now that you can hear you can also tell me what, exactly, you did to yourself and your friends.”

Grantaire’s smirk turned into his most falsely-innocent expression, and he stared up at the ceiling. “I’m afraid I’ve suddenly gone deaf again,” he said. “Joly warned me that might happen. I have an ear infection. But he gave me some drops.”

Enjolras propped his chin on his hand and looked evenly at him. “You have _not_ gone deaf, and pretending otherwise is not going to get you very far.” His tone subtly shifted as he leaned towards Grantaire, becoming almost seductive as he wheedled, “C’mon, just tell me. You know I won’t be _that_ mad, and besides, you’re the one that likes to be punished…”

It took all of Grantaire’s self-control to stare stubbornly at the ceiling, the bobbing of his adam’s apple the only sign that he had heard Enjolras at all. Enjolras sighed and leaned back. “Fine,” he said, suddenly businesslike. “You don’t have to tell me anything. But you should know that Courfeyrac and Combeferre are with Joly and Bossuet as we speak, and it’ll go much better for you if you tell me before one of them cracks.”

“You’re prisoner dilemma-ing us?” Grantaire demanded, an incredulous grin flitting across his face. “Seriously? Which trip to county lock-up did you pick that trick up on?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Enjolras said snottily before adding, “Besides, I learned it my game theory class. And shut up.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Well you can prisoner dilemma me all damn night if you want. You’re getting nothing out of me.” He raised a fist in the air. “Fight the man.”

“This is seriously the issue you choose to make a stand on?” Enjolras asked, raising an eyebrow. “Of all the issues we’ve fought for over the years, _this_ is seriously what you’re choosing?”

“Fight the fucking man,” Grantaire repeated succinctly, before adding, “Besides, you really want this to be the issue that you turn into a fascist on?”

“Fascist?” Enjolras repeated, his voice raising in both volume and pitch. “ _Fascist_? Really?”

The bartender outside in the main bar of the Musain sighed as the shouting started. “Buckle in, folks,” she told the three regulars at the bar. “It’s gonna be a long night.”

* * *

Courfeyrac let out a high-pitched giggle, slumping down in his seat until his chin rested on his chest. “I really really really like tequila,” he slurred. “It just, it tastes so good. And makes you feel like a balloon?”

“A balloon?” Joly repeated, also giggling. He had long since abandoned chairs as something that was going to hold him upright and was instead lying on his back on the floor, the almost-finished bottle of tequila within finger’s reach next to him. “I feel like Wolverine. Like I’m made of ada— ada— ada-whatchamacallit.” He waved an ineffective hand. “Metal.”

“A lead balloon,” Courfeyrac said solemnly, squinting at Joly. “Is that a thing? Feels like a thing.” He giggled again and pitched forward so that he was bending down by Joly. “Speaking of things…”

Joly blinked at him. “Is this about my penis?” he asked. “You can see it if you want. I have a pretty penis.”

Courfeyrac laughed so hard he almost fell off the chair. “I don’t want to see your penis!” he protested before considering it for a moment. “I mean, ok, yeah, I always want to see your penis. Not like, _your_ penis in particular. Like everyone’s penis. Cuz I mean, I’ve like seen everyone’s penis.”

Joly looked intrigued by that statement. “Enjolras’s penis?” 

“Seen it,” Courfeyrac said, picking up the bottle of tequila and taking a swig.

“Grantaire’s penis?”

Courfeyrac gave him a look. “Who hasn’t seen Grantaire’s penis?”  


“Fair point,” Joly said. “Feuilly’s penis?”

“Seen it.”

“Prouvaire’s penis?” Joly answered his own question. “Again, who hasn’t seen it. Bossuet?”

“Seen it.” Courfeyrac raised the bottle in a salute. “And may I say, friend, well fucking done on that one.”

Joly sighed. “I’d ask how you’ve seen my boyfriend’s penis, but frankly, I don’t think I want to know.” He paused, trying to remember who else was in their friend group. “Bahorel’s penis? Oh wait, trick question, he doesn’t have one.”

“Maybe not, but he’s got one hell of a strap on, and I don’t mind telling you, I’ve done more than see it,” Courfeyrac said blithely. “And speaking of more than seeing it, I’ve also done more than see Combeferre’s penis and he is closer to Bossuet than you might think.”

“Really don’t need to know that,” Joly muttered, grabbing the bottle back from Courfeyrac and taking a swig. “Or about Bahorel’s strap-on, honestly.”

“But you know what I need to know?” Courfeyrac asked, leaning closer to Joly. “I need to know what happened with you, and Bossuet, and Bossuet’s penis, and Grantaire.” He tried to give Joly a knowing look and failed. “Because something happened there with your eye and Grantaire’s ear and Bossuet’s throat, and if it’s a sex thing, you can tell me.”

Joly shook his head repeatedly as he told Courfeyrac, “Nope, I can’t tell you anything. We made a pact and my lips are sealed.” He mimed zipping his lips and locking it with a key, but when he went to mime throwing the key away, he knocked over the bottle of tequila.

“No, party foul!” Courfeyrac wailed, launching himself forward in a desperate attempt to save the tequila and instead falling out of his chair and onto Joly. “Ow.”

“Is this a new strategy for getting me to tell you?” Joly asked. “Because it’s not working.”

“Ow,” Courfeyrac repeated before blinking and asking, “Hey, what happened to the tequila?”

* * *

The silence in the room was punctuated solely by the ticking of the large grandfather clock in the corner, and Bossuet’s nerves seemed to unravel with each _tick_. Combeferre, for his part, was calmly highlighting a passage in his book, seemingly oblivious to Bossuet’s squirming.

However, after minutes had slipped into a hours, Combeferre cleared his throat and said simply, “You know, all you have to do is tell me what happened, and all the disappointment goes away.”

Bossuet flinched. “I wasn’t...that is, I don’t have anything to say,” he muttered.

Combeferre capped his highlighted and set it on the table before looking up at Bossuet. “Are you sure about that?”

For one long moment, Bossuet and Combeferre just stared at each other. Then Combeferre sighed heavily and picked his highlighter back up. “Ok…” he said, drawing the syllable out, disappointment clear in his voice.

Bossuet winced. “There really isn’t anything to tell!” he blurted. “Only, ok, it was last night, and—”

Combeferre didn’t look up as Bossuet spilled the whole entire story, but a small, triumphant smile crossed his face.

* * *

“It is not fascist to want you to tell me the truth,” Enjolras said, his voice as calm as he could keep it, considering the fact that he was leaning over Grantaire, his hands on the arms of Grantaire’s chair, their faces merely inches apart. “It’s just, I don’t know, common courtesy.”

Grantaire considered that. “Maybe,” he said, smirking up at Enjolras. “But I don’t think I’ve ever been accused of being courteous, and hell, I wouldn’t want to start now.”

Enjolras leaned in even closer. “You haven’t been accused of a lot of things,” he said softly, tilting his head over so slightly, and Grantaire swallowed, hard, as their noses just brushed. “And Lord knows, neither have I. And you know what I’ve especially never been accused of?” Grantaire shook his head silently. “Being a tease. So if you don’t want me to start…”

Grantaire licked his lips and was about to respond when Enjolras’s phone pinged and he straightened, frowning down at his phone. “Oh,” Enjolras said, sounding disappointed, as Grantaire hastily crossed his legs and conspicuously folded his hands in his lap. “Bossuet confessed. He fell in the river, despite multiple warning from public safety officers to not go in the river because of dangerous chemicals, and you and Joly were just trying to get him out. Hence your variety of gross infections.”

“Mm,” Grantaire said non-committally, his eyes screwed up as if he was trying desperately to think of something other than Enjolras, who was still standing directly in front of him.

“So I guess we might as well go home,” Enjolras said, a little defeatedly. “Though I really think I was close to breaking you.”

Grantaire opened one eye. “That’s what you think,” he muttered. He took a deep breath and opened both eyes, finally able to uncross his legs. “Fine. Let’s go home.”

He stood, offering his hand to Enjolras, who took it, lacing their fingers together in an almost distracted gesture that left Grantaire grinning just as much as he had the first time it had ever happened. “You understand why I didn’t tell you,” Grantaire said as they left the Musain, and Enjolras nodded.

“Yeah,” he said. “You were being a good friend to Bossuet, and not even boyfriend trumps that.” They walked together in silence for a moment and Enjolras asked, “You understand that I know damn well that both you and Joly did not jump to Bossuet’s rescue but instead also fell in the river because you were all drunk, right?”

Grantaire sighed mournfully. “When did you figure it out?” he asked.

“The ear, eye and throat infection were a pretty big clue,” Enjolras said dryly. “Besides, it’s not like it’s the first time it’s happened.”

“Fair enough,” Grantaire said. He glanced over at Enjolras and grinned. “Bossuet’s a much better friend than I am,” he said. “Two more seconds and I’d’ve sung like a bird.”

Enjolras smirked. “I know,” he said smugly and squeezed Grantaire’s hand. “Which is why I’m taking you home so that I can punish you accordingly.”

“Keep talking like that and we won’t make it home,” Grantaire muttered.

Enjolras laughed and shook his head. “Oh, and Grantaire? The next time I tell you to go jump in a lake, remember that I mean it metaphorically and not literally.”

Grantaire laughed as well. “Fair enough.”


End file.
